Cruel Justice

25

BEN COULDN’T FIND A parking space in the underground lot between the state courthouse and the library, so he ended up having to park at the Convention Center and hoof it. The heat was still blistering—over a hundred and eight now, according to KWGS—and he wasn’t the only one feeling it. The homeless people occupying the bus stop on Denver looked singularly miserable. The air conditioner in his apartment might not work, Ben noted, but at least he had an apartment.

Knowing as he did that riding the elevator always entailed at least a fifteen-minute wait, Ben took to the stairs. He was doing some significant huffing and puffing by the time he reached the seventh floor. Judge Hawkins’s clerk waved him into the judge’s chambers. Ben pushed open the door and found Judge Hawkins reclining in the chair behind his desk …

… and Jack Bullock sitting in the chair on the opposite side.

“Ben,” Bullock said. His hands were folded steeple-style before his face. “We were just talking about you.”

What a delight to find the notorious hanging judge was talking about him with the man who had recently sworn to “teach you a lesson.” “About the case, or me?”

“You,” Bullock said. “And your … tactics.”

Ben took the available chair opposite the judge’s desk. “You know, Jack, some people might consider an ex parte conversation with the judge mildly improper.”

Ben glanced at Judge Hawkins, assuming he would intervene and assure Ben that nothing untoward had occurred. Ben was sorely disappointed. Hawkins just leaned back in his chair with the usual indifferent expression plastered across his face.

If anything, he appeared amused and content to enjoy the banter.

“Like I said,” Bullock growled, “we talked about you, not your case. As long as we don’t specifically discuss the case, there’s no ethical impropriety.”

“Why are you here, anyway? I thought Myrna Adams was handling this case.”

“Not anymore. As of one hour ago the case was transferred to me.”

Ben felt a clutching in his throat. This was all he needed. In addition to a client who couldn’t communicate, a hanging judge, and a smoking-gun videotape, now he had Bullock for a prosecutor. “What happened to Myrna?”

“Myrna decided she was too busy to be lead counsel on this case.”

“Too busy? Why?”

“Because I dumped sixteen new felony cases and two grand-jury investigations on her this morning. She had little choice.”

Ben was confused and amazed. “You wanted this case? Why on earth would you want this case?”

Bullock’s eyes focused on Ben. “So I can ram it down your throat.”

For the longest time Ben didn’t seem to be able to make his mouth work.

“You need a lesson in the difference between right and wrong,” Bullock continued. “So we’re going to give it to you.”

Ben whirled to face Judge Hawkins. “Are you in on this with him?”

The judge spread his hands. “I don’t know what he’s talking about. Don’t let it worry you, son. You know how overwrought prosecutors get.”

Somehow, Ben didn’t find the judge’s reassurances the least bit comforting. “I heard the prosecution was interested in a plea bargain.”

“All offers are hereby withdrawn,” Bullock announced. “I wouldn’t cut you a deal if you were representing the pope, and your clients are considerably less saintly.”

“Who’s being immature now? You’re trying to turn a murder trial into a revenge play. Or a referendum on my personal ethics.”

“Call it what you will. This is one murderer we’re not going to let you put back on the street.”

“Leeman Hayes hasn’t hurt anyone.”

“Maybe not lately, because he’s been locked up for the past ten years. ’Course, if his case had gone to trial when it was supposed to, he’d probably be dead now. Instead, a few fancy-lawyer tricks from your ilk got him a ten-year lease on life. At the taxpayers’ expense.”

“That isn’t even accurate—”

“I’m tired of seeing our taxpayer dollars wasted on day care for unexecuted murderers. We have an obligation to the people of this state—”

“Are you sure you’re not running for office?” Ben asked. “You sure sound like it.”

“Gentlemen.” Judge Hawkins eased forward. “Let’s not bicker. I’ll note for the record that counsel for both parties are present and ready to proceed. Anything else we need to discuss?” He held out his hands for the briefest of moments, then slapped them down on his desk. “So, if there’s nothing else—”

Ben couldn’t leave without trying to accomplish something. “I asked for the prosecution’s witness list. And I haven’t got it yet.”

“Well, let me say a word on that,” Bullock said, leaning across the judge’s desk. “The first day he took this case, we got all these discovery requests from Kincaid. From his secretary, actually. We haven’t had time to put together all the exhibits—”

“I’ve already got the exhibits,” Ben interrupted. “So you can forget that wheeze.”

Bullock was taken by surprise. “I gave strict instructions—”

“To stonewall? Figures.” Ben turned his attention to the judge. “Your honor, I’m entitled to know who he plans to call to the stand.”

Judge Hawkins sighed wearily. “Any reason why you can’t get him a list today, Jack?”

“Well, of course, I just took this case this morning. I’m still feeling my way around.”

“Jack.” The judge looked at him sternly. “We don’t want Mr. Kincaid to have any excuses later on for the appeal court, do we?” He cleared his throat. “Just in case his client is convicted.”

Uh-huh, Ben thought. Just in case.

“I’ll do my best, your honor,” Bullock said.

“I’d appreciate it.” Hawkins glanced at his watch. “Now, if there’s nothing else—”

“One more matter,” Ben said. He knew he was pushing his luck, but he felt obligated to give it the old college try. “I’m bringing a motion in limine to suppress the use of a certain videotape by the prosecution at trial.”

“Videotape?” Hawkins frowned. “What is this, some Rodney King deal?”

“Even better,” Bullock said. “Hayes actually confessed on tape.”

“That’s a question of fact,” Ben said firmly. “Leeman Hayes doesn’t say a word on the tape. It’s all pantomime, and extremely ambiguous. I believe it will confuse the jury and prove more prejudicial than probative. Especially after Mr. Bullock gives it his slanted spin-doctor routine—”

Bullock looked wounded. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“—just like he did a few seconds ago.”

Hawkins frowned. “Is this a … lengthy videotape?”

“Not too long, your honor,” Bullock replied. “About an hour.”

“But the jury will probably have to watch it several times,” Ben interjected.

Hawkins sighed again. “Is this absolutely necessary, Mr. Prosecutor?”

“It’s the crux of my case,” Bullock insisted. “This kid is guilty, and the tape proves it.”

He’d said the magic words. When all was said and done, in Hawkins’s eyes, Bullock worked for the forces of good, and Ben was trying to interfere with Hawkins’s summary imposition of the maximum sentence. “Well, I hate to make a decision in advance of trial. …”

Ben tried not to snicker. Hawkins hated to make a decision, period.

“So why don’t we just overrule the motion for now. You can renew your motion at trial, Mr. Kincaid. In the event that I sustain it, I’ll instruct the jury to disregard the taped evidence.”

And a fat lot of good that will do, Ben thought. Despite this fiction judges liked to employ, there was no way the jurors could disregard evidence once they had seen it. On the contrary, most jurors tended to give particular consideration to anything they’d been told to forget.

Hawkins pushed himself out of his chair. “If there’s nothing more, gentlemen, I do have a golf game this afternoon. …”

“What a coincidence,” Ben said. “I’m playing golf this afternoon, too. At Utica Greens.”

The judge did a double take. “You’re playing at Utica Greens?”

“Oh, sure,” Ben bluffed. “I play there all the time. Don’t you?”

Hawkins’s eyes moved closer together. “I applied for membership three years ago. I was turned down.”

“Well, perhaps you can come out with me sometime.”

Hawkins’s eyes lit up. “Really? How about next Friday?” Ben tried to simulate Hawkins’s most indifferent expression. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks. I’ll look forward to it.” Hawkins shook Ben’s hand energetically, disregarded Bullock’s, and scurried out of chambers.

“Now wait a minute,” Bullock said. “You two are going to play golf together? As in ex parte? I’m not sure I approve of this.”

“Don’t get excited,” Ben said. “As long as we don’t specifically discuss this case, it’s okay, remember?” He strolled out of the judge’s chambers. “Actually, we’ll probably spend the whole time talking about you.”